I am born again. Thanks to the bright and helpful rheumatologist we will call Dr. Superstar, I have less pain than I have had in years. Possibly 15 years. The sky is bluer. The jokes are funnier. Everyone is good-looking.
No. Dr. Superstar did not send me to Canada for r & r. He put me on steroids for a brief time until I start the big gun meds. Steroids rock!
The deep lines in my brow from pain have virtually disappeared. My fussiness in the AM is gone. I had to run 20 feet to grab something quickly and... I could.
Why am I telling you this? Many of my readers already figured it out by the times my blog entries were posting. Others saw it in the time stamp of my emails... Mama hasn't slept much this week. I've been working every night until 2:30 or so. Happily. In the comfort of my own body.
Side effect. Superstar warned me and said with a smile, "You'll have enough energy to clean your neighbor's house, too."
I know that steroids are a dangerous drug. I know that I only get to feel the fantabulous, beautiful, amazing relief of them for two weeks. But I also know that I haven't felt like this in years. I feel my age for a change. Who knew I am so young?
Male secondary sexual side effects? So what? Might go blind? Who cares? Can't participate in the Beijing Olympics? Well, that one is kind of a bummer. But instead I will write the next Rocky screenplay, put in my two cents in California government, and meet lots of baseball players.
Hey, let's go outside and lift my neighbor's Mini Cooper!